


Born Again

by the_random_writer



Series: Separated Twins [24]
Category: Bourne (Movies), RED (Movies), The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
Genre: Brothers, Childbirth, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Crossover, F/M, Fatherhood, Marriage Proposal, Newborn Children, Plans For The Future, Separated Twins, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: A crossover where William Cooper from 'RED' and Kirill from 'The Bourne Supremacy' are identical twins.Born in Berlin to an American mother and a Russian father, the twins were separated at the age of ten by their parents' divorce. William went to the United States with their mother, while Kirill went to the Soviet Union with their father.Each installment in theseriestells the story of a moment in the twins' lives. Some are humorous, some are serious. They are all more or less standalone, but interconnect and refer to each other.Kirill's had a crazy couple of years. Becoming a father makes him realize what life is *really* about...Takes place in July 2012.
Series: Separated Twins [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/324236
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Born Again

Kirill shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the nagging cramp that threatened to engulf his thigh, but froze in abject terror as the movement caused the tiny bundle in his arms to stir.

 _Please don't wake up_ , he silently pleaded. _At least, not until mama is back from her shower_. _She is the clever parent_. _She is the one who knows what to do_.

The bundle kicked a chubby leg, made an anxious burbling sound, and pulled her tiny, serious brows into a tiny, serious frown.

Oh, dear. That frown wasn't good. Not even four hours old, and she was already showing signs of having the infamous Orlov Scowl. For the rest of her life, whenever she sat down to think, even about something as simple as what to order for lunch, anyone watching her would assume she was actually trying to figure out how to become a serial killer.

Resting Murderer Face, Michelle had named it. Although, given the content of his and William's careers, maybe Resting Assassin Face would be better. He had it. William had it. Hell, even eight-year-old Tania had it. She'd once done it to such a degree while thinking through an arithmetic problem she'd made one of her classmates cry. Not Drusha, though—he was too much of a McNally. When _he_ put his thinking cap on, he just looked kind and caring instead.

As for the baby, it was what it was. And if push came to shove, it was better for her to have his looks and Kate's character traits than his character traits and Kate's looks. With the former combination, she had a semi-decent chance of living a normal, peaceful life instead of a life full of anger and pain.

He made a quiet shushing sound, rocking gently in the chair. To his relief, instead of waking, the baby stilled and fell silent again.

 _Stop referring to her as 'the baby'_ , was his next silent command, to himself. _She is a person_. _She has a name_.

And a fine Russian name at that. Alexandra Kirillovna Orlova. Sashenka to her mother and father, and Sasha or Sanya to her close friends.

 _His_ daughter. _Their_ daughter. The perfect, beautiful little girl he and Kate had created together.

And she _was_ perfect, in every possible way, from the delicate curve of her dainty ears to the pert bump of her button nose, to the crowning mass of spikey, dark hair. In fact, he would go so far as to say, she was the most perfect baby he'd _ever_ seen.

He brushed her fingers with one of his, marveling at how tiny she was. Everything about her was beautifully formed, but in dainty, miniature dimensions, from her smooth, pea-sized fingernails to her wispy, delicate lashes. He'd always known newborn babies were small, but he'd never actually held one before, so only in a theoretical sense—the same he'd always known Zdeno Chara was tall without ever meeting the man in the flesh.

Unfortunately, small meant terrifyingly fragile and frail. He was _painfully_ aware of how easy it would be to hurt her. When the doctor had handed her to him, back in the delivery suite, she all of two minutes old, purple-faced, kicking and screaming, as wrinkled as a baby pug, he'd wanted to shit his pants, and do some kicking and screaming right back. Even the time in Dagestan, when the pin had fallen out of a grenade just as he'd picked it out of a box, had been nowhere _near_ as scary as having to hold his newborn child. He'd taken her from the doctor, but only _after_ he'd found somewhere to sit.

He would maybe try standing up while holding her tomorrow. Or the day after. There was no rush.

The sound of running water stopped.

Carefully, so as not to scratch her with his stubble, he leaned forward to kiss Sashenka on the head. She smelled of cotton towels and talcum powder, and another scent he couldn’t place. "It is okay if you want to wake up now," he whispered. "Mama has finished in the shower. If you have a problem, she will be able to solve it for you."

It wasn't that he wasn't willing to help, but her problem would likely be one of two things—hunger, or a diaper change. He wasn't equipped to handle the former. In theory, he could deal with the latter, but he'd only practiced on a plastic doll. The first time he had to change one for real, he wanted someone beside him to help, just in case he fucked it all up, forgot to fasten it at the side, or put it on the wrong way round.

Sashenka didn't move. If she had a problem, she wasn't sharing.

He craned his neck to look at his phone, propped up on the table beside him, checking for incoming calls or texts. Nothing was blinking or buzzing. So, no response as yet from Dan, and more annoyingly, no response as yet from Andrew and Helen. The most recent message was from Michelle, sent a couple of minutes ago, letting him know she and William were hoping to visit, but only if they could change their plans with the kids.

Kirill didn't envy Michelle in her task. Drusha probably wouldn't mind, but Tania had been bugging her parents to take them to see the movie for weeks. There was no way in hell she would give up it up now, especially not for something as boring as visiting her new baby cousin.

The door to the bathroom opened. Kate emerged, pale and drawn but also refreshed, her still-damp hair tied back from her face. She was wearing her favourite, baggy cotton pajamas—the set he'd long since mentally labelled The Passion Killers—and had a pair of flip-flops jammed on her feet.

She smiled as she saw him. "You've moved far," she said. Slowly, she started to shuffle towards him, taking cautious baby steps.

"I cannot drop her if I am sitting down," he said.

Kate shook her head. "You're not gonna drop her." Arriving at the other chair, she turned to position herself over the pillow she'd moved there from the bed, then, with her hands on the arms to brace herself, carefully sank into the seat. "It's what a lot of people worry about, but nobody ever does."

He didn't doubt it, but he had no desire to be the exception who proved the rule.

"She woken at all?" Kate asked.

"She has kicked a few times, made a couple of grumbling sounds, but that is all. She seems to be quite happy to sleep."

"I will _literally_ give my eye teeth for her to keep that up. If she turns out to be the kind of baby who sleeps through the night, it'll be better than winning the lottery, trust me."

Not that they needed to win the lottery, given how wealthy her parents were, but he got the point. "Some of the people at work have told me horror stories about babies who only sleep for one or two hours a night. I know I don't sleep a lot, but even I need more than that. I don't know how they are able to function."

"I see it at work when I'm covering the kiddie clinic, but it's usually cus the babies have colic."

"What is that?"

"It's a thing that happens with newborns, makes them cry for hours on end."

"Will Sashenka develop it?"

"We don't know what causes it, so hard to say. And even if she does, except to our patience, eardrums and energy levels, there won't be any lasting damage."

So many problems to worry about. He added 'colic' to his ever-growing list, after 'dropping', 'measles', 'diaper rash', 'strep throat', 'umbilical hernia' and 'stranger danger'. "Is there any genetic component?" he asked. "To how well a baby sleeps, I mean?"

"No idea. Why'd you ask?"

"Because I don't think I was ever very good at sleeping. I have very clear memories from the apartment in Berlin, of being a young child and waking up what felt like hours before everyone else." He'd never bothered his brother or parents, just read a book or played with his toys until the alarm went off or the sun came up.

" _I'm_ a good sleeper, always have been, so if it _is_ genetic, let's hope she takes after me."

In more than just her sleeping habits…

"Did the shower help?" Kirill asked.

Kate groaned and rolled her neck. "Was _amazing_. Still feel like someone's taken a baseball bat to certain parts of my body, but at least I'm clean."

"Never underestimate the healing power of high pressure hot water."

She snickered. "Ain't that the truth?"

Taking care not to jostle Sashenka, he beckoned for Kate to lean in close so he could press a quick kiss to her lips. "And we do love our showers, do we not?" he murmured with a grin.

She laid a hand on the side of his face, stroked her thumb along his cheek and pushed forward to kiss him again. "You remember the first time we ever fucked in a shower?"

Her bluntness with words was one of the things he loved about her—they always just 'fucked', they never 'had sex' or 'made love', even when it was tender and slow. "In Michelle and William's basement, yes. The morning after my farewell dinner." And as he recalled, by the time they'd ended up in the shower, they'd already fucked in several other places, including on the bench out back by the stream. Did William know about that? The bench was still there, so probably not.

"And I'll bet you dollars to cents it was in a shower we made this little one here," she added.

"I will take your bet, because I think it was actually the time on the desk."

She sighed. "The desk in my dad's office, right."

"It _was_ an excellent place to have sex."

"Squeaked a lot, but other than that, I can't complain." She flashed her brows. "Perfect height for bending over."

"But given what it effect it has had, someone should really haul it outside, and either chop it up with an axe or douse it in gasoline and set it on fire." It would need at least two people to carry it out of the house, but William might be willing to help, since the desk's 'curse' had hit him as well.

"You damage his Napoleon desk, my father'll _end_ you."

"Katenka, _please_ ," Kirill said, voice dripping with scorn. "I am holding a baby. Don't make me laugh."

"Just saying. That desk is my dad's pride and joy."

A _desk_. Not his capable, beautiful daughters, or the lives and careers they'd built for themselves. The man was a pompous, ignorant ass. "There is no hurry. It is a problem we don't have to solve until Sashenka reaches her teens."

Kate's brows shot up. " _Sashenka_? Is that what we're calling her?"

He nodded. "It is what the two of us will call her. But it is a very affectionate form of her name, so _only_ us." And sadly, eventually, probably her boyfriends as well. "Friends and other relations will call her Sasha or Sanya instead."

"This is one of those weird Russian naming customs, right?"

"It is no different from how most people call you Catherine, but the people you are closest to call you Kate."

"Never thought about it like that." Grimacing, she pushed up from the chair.

"What are you doing?" Kirill asked, alarmed.

"I'm pulling my chair round. It's hurting my neck to sit side by side." She slid the chair in a circular motion, moving it closer, placing it at a right angle to his. "There. Much better," she said, carefully sitting again.

"You should not strain yourself."

She snorted. "I just pushed a seven pound baby out of the end of my body. Bit late for that." She reached out to cradle one of Sashenka's booty-clad feet. "I kinda like Alex as a short name as well. Would it bother you if I ever called her that?"

"Not at all." Kirill wrinkled his nose. "Just not Lexa, please."

"What's wrong with Lexa?"

"Nothing, if you want her to sound like a car."

"That's Lexus, but I get what you mean." She made a face. "And I'm not fond of Sandy either, so let's nix that as well."

"I agree. No Lexa, no Sandy. She is not a car, _or_ a beach."

The cramp finally claimed his thigh. Wincing, he shifted again, trying to find a way to sit that would allow the offending muscle to stretch.

"You okay?" Kate asked, frowning. She pulled away to look him over.

"My leg is cramping," Kirill explained.

"Bad one or good one?"

"The bad one."

"Then you need to stand up and stretch it out." She made a 'hand her over' gesture. "Let me take her for a while. You've barely moved for almost an hour. It's no wonder you're seizing up." She leaned forward, slipped her hands under Sashenka's head and butt and expertly eased the baby out of his arms and into her own.

Tiny eyelids fluttered open.

"Hey, there, kiddo," Kate murmured, tenderly stroking their daughter's cheek. "How you doing? You feeling okay about finally being out in the world? Not too mad about being expected to exist?"

Sashenka's response was another nose-wrinkling frown.

Kate sighed. "She's already doing that thing you do."

"The Resting Murderer Face," Kirill said, rising from the chair to stretch out his thigh. Placing one hand on the chair to steady himself, he brought his leg up behind him, grabbed the end of his foot with the other and pulled his heel right into his butt. The cramping instantly started to ease. "Yes, I noticed. She is going to look like me, it seems."

Kate shrugged. "Just means she'll have my brains."

"I have already decided that is the best possible combination."

"Not really."

"Oh?"

"She could have my looks _and_ my brains."

He hadn't considered that. And it wasn't as if Sashenka would suffer—Kate was both smarter _and_ better-looking than him. "Perhaps she will look more like you as she grows."

"As long as she doesn't start to look like my dad." Kate shuddered. "Would rather she have the Orlov Scowl than the McNally chin."

"Your father does not have a chin."

"Exactly."

"I think she has _definitely_ inherited one thing from the McNallys."

"What's that?"

He pointed at Sashenka's head. "Her full head of hair. It reminds me of your Uncle John's."

Kate grinned. "Incredible, isn't it?" she said, twirling a finger in their daughter's locks.

"I did not expect her to have so much. _Or_ , for it to be so dark. Is that normal for newborns?"

"It's not common, but that doesn't mean it isn't normal. It'll change over time, thin out a bit, probably get a lot lighter. I'll put money on her being light brown or blonde by the time she turns one."

"And what about her eyes? Will they also change?" Not that he would mind if they didn't—they were the same beautiful shade of blue as her mother's.

"Depends on the genetics. Yours are hazel, mine are blue, so could go either way. What colour were your parents' eyes?"

"Mama's were hazel." Flashing gold when she lost her temper, deep, golden brown when she laughed, brilliant green when the sunlight caught them. "We got ours from her."

"And your dad's?"

"They were—" Kirill broke off, realizing he couldn't answer the question. What colour _had_ his father's eyes been? He squeezed his own shut, trying to remember, but he couldn’t picture his father's face. He _could_ picture his babushka Orlova's—she'd had eyes the colour of freshly-chipped slate, or of roiling clouds in a gathering storm. "I _think_ they were blue, but I cannot be sure without looking at a photo."

"And I'm blue-eyed, from a blue-eyed father and a brown-eyed mother." Kate shrugged. "It's a real jumble of dominant and recessive genes, so impossible to say for sure. Best just to wait and find out."

"If they _are_ going to change, how long will it take?"

"Usually a couple of months. Can be as long as a year, but that's pretty rare."

"I am trying to remember what colour Tania and Drusha's eyes are," Kirill said. He should really know; it was slightly embarrassing that he didn't.

"Tati's are hazel and Drew's are blue."

"A papa's girl and a mama's boy in more ways than one."

"Just don't _ever_ let Mike hear you describe them that way. Which reminds me, has she been in touch yet?"

Kirill gestured at his phone. "She has been texting non-stop, asking me all kinds of questions." He released his foot, allowing it to return to the floor, waiting to see if the cramp would return. "I have been answering them as well as I can."

Kate rolled her eyes. "She's in full-on lawyer mode, I bet."

"I know she means well, but I feel like I am being tested on my own daughter's birth."

"Are they coming in for a visit?"

"She says they want to, but they were supposed to be taking the children to see a movie tonight."

"Who goes to the movies on the _Fourth of July_?"

"Tania has been bugging them to take her to see it, and you know how determined she is. Viko knew he would definitely be able to take them today because work would not get in the way." He waved at the window. "Plus, it is thirty-six degrees outside, and the theatre will be air-conditioned."

"Good point. So, what's the movie?"

"Some Disney thing called 'Brave'. It is about a medieval Scottish princess who has to undo a curse."

" _Definitely_ Tania's choice. She'll be talking in a Scottish accent for weeks."

"Did I ever tell you about the time when I was working for the SVR overseas, and my boss sent me to meet with a man from the local British embassy who was offering to sell classified information to us?"

"Was he Scottish?"

Kirill nodded. "From a place called Dundee. I could not understand a _single_ word he said. When my boss asked me if the man was worth developing as a source, I lied and said no, just so I would not have to meet him again."

"Seems like a valid solution to me." Kate shifted position, lifting Sashenka up to lay her on her chest. "So, we probably won't be seeing the Coopers today," she said, gently rocking back and forth.

"Not unless you want World War Tania on your hands, no."

"World War Tania. Jesus. That's a good way to put it."

"I think even Stalin would be scared of her when she is having one of her snits."

"Let's just hope we don't ever end up in World War Alex as well." She checked the clock. "What about my parents? You heard anything from them?"

"Not yet, no."

Kate sighed. "They _are_ in Rome, it's six hours ahead, we didn't text them until just after five, they might not have seen the message before they headed to bed."

"I still cannot believe they chose to go on a month-long cruise the _week_ before they knew you were due."

"That's my parents for you. Nothing comes between my father and his time off."

All well and good, but what did Andrew McNally do that actually counted as time _on_? He owned a company, but he paid other people to manage it for him. And even if he _was_ so tired that he needed some quiet time away, did it have to be the week his younger daughter was due to give birth? Talk about having your life priorities all wrong?

 _We will not be those kind of parents_ , Kirill vowed. _When Sashenka is older, and ready to have her first child, her mama and I will be there for her_. _We will not abandon her to fend for herself_. _Not even if someone offers us a free cruise to the moon_.

"Guess there hasn't been anything from Dan yet, either?" Kate asked.

"No."

"Yeah, well. Not like he'll care," she muttered. "He barely sees the niece he already has."

Kirill leaned in to kiss the still-damp crown of her head. She smelled of towels and talcum powder as well. "The only people who matter right now are Viko and Michelle," he murmured into her hair. "As long as _they_ care about you and Sashenka, _I_ am happy. Dan is irrelevant." He didn't say it, but in his opinion, so were her mother and father.

Kate sighed. "You're right, I know. It's just disappointing."

Disappointing. That was her parents and brother to a 't'.

They both jumped as the phone buzzed; Sashenka jerked, but didn't wake.

Kirill grabbed the phone and entered his PIN to unlock the screen.

"Who is it?" Kate asked.

"It is Michelle. She says they told the children about the baby, and they are very excited to see her, but more excited to see the movie."

"Can't say I blame them. Movie sound awesome. And newborn babies are pretty dull."

"You don't mind if they don't come for a visit?"

"Between you and me, I'm actually kinda glad they can't. Not sure I'm up to having visitors yet. Would rather have the rest of the day for us."

Another message popped up. "Michelle wants to know where and when she can visit tomorrow."

"Tell her to come to the house. Cus I'm getting out of here in the morning."

Alarm flooded through him. "Katenka, you had a _baby_ four hours ago. You cannot _possibly_ go home tomorrow."

"Course I can. Was a regular birth with no complications." She patted Sashenka's butt. "She's passed all of her newborn checks, she's feeding fine, already been changed once, and I've handled plenty of babies at work, so it's not like I don't know what I'm doing."

 _She_ did, but _he_ absolutely didn't. If it was up to him, they would stay in this room, surrounded by all manner of doctors and nurses until their daughter was six months old. Or maybe twelve. Yes. Twelve would be better.

"And tell them to come after work," Kate said. "That way, they don't need to take time off, and we have most of the day to ourselves."

"If you are sure."

"I'm sure."

He typed out the message.

A minute later, the phone buzzed again. "Michelle sends her love, hopes you are well, says she cannot wait to see her niece and will visit us after work tomorrow."

A chime now, instead of a buzz—a message from William instead of Michelle. "This one is for me," Kirill explained. "From William."

"He better not be trying to arrange a boys' celebratory night out."

"Am I not allowed to wet the baby's head?"

"Sorry, to _what_?"

He'd forgotten it wasn't an American expression. "Wet the baby's head. It is a British saying. It means to go out for a drink to celebrate the birth of a child."

"Huh. And yeah, you are, but not until we've figured out her sleeping and feeding schedule."

"That is fair."

"So, what's William saying?"

"He is congratulating me on becoming a father, and reminding me to email my boss, to let her know the baby is here, and that my parental leave has started."

"How much time are you gonna take?"

There was the sixty-four-thousand dollar question. He wanted to be at home to help, but he didn't want to ask for too much so close to the end of his two year probation. "I was thinking two weeks. I have to take it as leave without pay. If I take longer, it could put a dent in our finances." Especially since she wouldn't be earning her usual salary, either. It was ridiculous, in a country as 'civilized' as the United States, how little leave she was entitled to take, and how little coverage her employer provided. Even Russia had better provisions.

Kate waved him away. "Money won't be an issue. I can dip into my trust account, and dad'll probably send me a card with a huge cheque in it. It's what he did with Drusha and Tania."

"I would rather he keep the cheque, and be here to see his granddaughter."

"So, two weeks it is," Kate said, politely ignoring his complaint. "You think you'll be able to negotiate for more if you need it?"

"Possibly. It depends on what is going on at work, and what kind of mood my boss is in. My mid-year review is on the eighteenth. Let us see how that goes."

Sashenka squirmed and let out a dissatisfied grunt.

"Uh oh," said Kate. "Think someone's about to wake up."

"She is probably hungry. It has been three hours since she last fed."

But just like before, instead of coming fully awake, after another fleeting grumble, Sashenka fell silent again.

"Or, maybe not?" Kate added.

"She is _definitely_ going to be a good sleeper."

"William'll be green with envy. When you go for your boys' night out, ask him about the wide awake phase Tati went through when she was two. One night, she apparently climbed out of her crib and went to their room to wake them up _forty-six times_. Got so bad, Will had to put a lock on her door."

"They locked her _in_?"

"She was perfectly safe. Safer than if they'd done nothing, cus I think by visit forty-two, Mike was ready to kill her."

"At least she would have had a good legal team."

"Speaking of sleeping, are you gonna stay here tonight? It's allowed, there's a foldout cot in the corner."

"Do you _want_ me to stay?" He'd put some basic supplies in her bag, expecting her labour to last up to twenty-four hours. Not enough for a lengthy stay, but more than enough for a single night.

"Course I do." Kate smirked. "You're a much lighter sleeper than me. When she cries, she'll wake you first."

"Then, yes, I will stay." He opened his phone again. "But someone will have to feed Morana. I put down enough food for today before we left, but she will get very crabby if she has nothing more until lunchtime tomorrow." He started typing. "I will ask William if he can go by the house on the way to the movie, put another scoop of food in her bowl."

"Sure he's gonna love that."

"He can send Tania in to do it. Morana loves her."

"Evil women stick together."

"Tania is not evil." He'd met truly evil women; Tania (as yet) had nothing on them.

"Okay, then stubborn, determined, willful women."

"It is not Tania's fault. She just inherited it from her mother."

"Right, cus there's none of that in your genes at _all_. You and Will are both humble, gentle, quiet men."

" _I_ am quiet."

"Not when you're fucking in a shower, you're not."

Sashenka let out a gentle whiffle, as if passing comment on the circumstances of her own conception.

Kate grinned. "See? Even your four-hour-old daughter's taking none of your shit."

"She is no doubt starting life as she means to go on."

"You think you're ready for her being just like her mother as well?"

"Better her mother than her father."

The grin fell away, replaced with a frown. "You say that as if you think you're someone who's not worth growing up to be like."

"I don't think that I am."

"You shouldn't say that," Kate said, setting her mouth in a line. "I know _why_ you say it, but I don't like it when you tear yourself down." Her lips twitched. "That's my job, remember?"

"Actually, I think it is Viko's."

"We've agreed to share. He covers the weekday shift, I take the weekends and nights."

"Good to know, thank you."

"Seriously, though. I know you do it because you don't like who you used to be, but it's not a healthy attitude. You need to leave the past in the past. Whatever you've done, it can't be undone. The important thing is, you're trying to be a good person now. That's all that really matters."

"I know. But what worries me is that I once _allowed_ myself to be bad." Not just bad—he'd been twisted and rotten to the core, ruining and ending lives without compunction or compassion. " _That_ is what I do not want Sashenka to inherit. My capacity to be a terrible person. I want her to be like you instead. To be the kind of person who cares, and who always acts with patience and kindness, not because someone pays or orders them to, or because they think they should, but because they know it is the right thing to do."

"I haven't always acted with patience and kindness. I've done some really mean things as well."

"You have never killed a man in cold blood."

"No," she said in the calmest of tones. "But I would, if I had to, if he was trying to hurt my child."

Kirill's shoulders tensed and his hands became fists. "If any man tries to harm my daughter, I will gut him like a fish, carve out his stomach and liver, and leave him bleeding in the gutter for the dogs and rats to eat." He even knew which knife he would use—the six-inch titanium Strider with the double serrated edge. It rended flesh in a way that not even the finest surgical stitches could fix.

"Kir, I get where you're coming from, but that's _awfully_ specific."

He forced his shoulders and hands to relax. "I am sorry. That was extremely inappropriate. I should not think or speak of such things." Especially not today, of all days. Today was about birth, not death.

"It's okay to have evil thoughts, especially when you're angry or stressed. Everyone does, and anyone who says they don't is a liar. The trick is to make sure evil thoughts don't become evil acts. No matter how stressed you are, no matter easy it would be, no matter how much the person in question deserves it."

"Except if the person was trying to harm my child." Or her. Or Drusha and Tania. Or William and Michelle. Or even Boomer and Morana. The list could go on and on…

"I'll give you a waiver for that one, yeah."

"Katenka, I promise, my days of being a terrible person are all behind me, and that going forward, I will try to be the best person I can. The best _husband_ I can. The best _father_ I can."

"Is that your idea of a marriage proposal?"

"I only meant—"

She smiled softly. "It's okay. I know what you meant."

Was he imagining things, or did she sound disappointed?

It occurred to him then, a spine-chilling realization that made his blood drain into his feet, that with everything they'd been through in the last nine months—the house, the baby, his abortive attempt to run away, his new role at work and shitty new boss, the 'friend' from his past showing up at their door—that he'd never actually proposed. Yes, they'd talked about a wedding—they were going to do something simple and quiet at the end of the year—but he'd never gotten down on one knee and asked her to be his wife.

Oh, _fuck_.

He should probably do something about that. Like, _right fucking now_. But they were in a hospital birthing suite—probably one of the _least_ proposal-appropriate places on the whole planet. And he hadn't as yet bought her a ring. And with the state of his leg, could he even get down on one knee?

There was only one way to find out.

He went to stand in front of her, took a breath and slowly kneeled.

Kate's eyes went wide. "What the fuck are you doing?"

His left kneecap dug into the floor. It hurt like hell—the floor was tile—but the right one would hurt even more. And neither knee would hurt as much as ten hours of contractions. "Give me your hand," he said.

"I can't. I'm using them to hold the baby."

"She will be fine, if you lean back a bit. I only need one for a few seconds."

Kate leaned back slightly, hitching Sashenka up on her shoulder. She slid her left hand firmly under the baby's butt and held her right hand out.

He took it in his, leaning forward to quickly kiss it. "Catherine Eleanor McNally," he started, relieved he remembered her middle name. "Will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Hers was the most radiant smile he'd ever seen. "Took your goddamn time, Orlov. Was beginning to think you'd never ask."

"In my defense, I had assumed that as we were having a baby, and with all the talk of weddings, the question did not need to be posed." He winced as his right thigh muscle complained. In ten seconds, it was going to start cramping again.

"You know what they say about people who make assumptions."

In his experience, they usually ended up dead in a ditch…

"But, yes, I will _absolutely_ marry you," she said, reclaiming her hand. "Now get up, please, before you dislocate one of your pins. It's making my joints hurt just looking at you."

With one hand on the arm of his chair, he half-pulled, half-pushed himself to his feet. He leaned over to press a kiss to her lips, then another to the back of their daughter's head. He could feel the waves of heat coming off her—she was like a tiny water bottle with feet. Leg trembling slightly, he reclaimed his seat.

"I will do my best to keep my word," he said, keeping his eyes on the sleeping Sashenka, suddenly scared to meet Kate's gaze. "About being the best person I can."

"That's all anyone can ask."

"But that does not mean I will never fuck up. There will be days when I do something wrong, and you will want to throw stuff at me, or strangle me in my sleep."

"Pretty sure that's every married couple. And as long as it's not _every_ day, we're good."

"It is just hard sometimes," he confessed, thinking about what he'd said only two minutes ago, how quickly he'd gone to thoughts of gutting a man like a fish.

"What is?"

"To stop myself from being the man I spent fifteen years learning how to be. To remind myself to be something nicer and better."

"It was just training, hon. It'll take time, but eventually, it'll come undone, and better instincts will start to take over."

"The rational part of me knows that. The irrational part of me worries the training went on for so long, it is now etched into my bones." And even worse, in his sin-blackened soul.

"Do you think you were a bad person before you joined Special Forces?"

He cast his mind back, trying to remember the young man he'd once been. "I don't believe so. I was selfish, and I could be cruel, but no more so than any other twenty-year-old. As a species, it is not when we are at our best. Most of us are too stressed about getting laid to think about being nice."

"Certainly wasn't _my_ finest hour. Think I spent the first half of my twenties being an absolute _bitch_ to any guy who annoyed me."

"So, most of the men on the eastern seaboard, then?"

"Anyone ever told you how funny you are?"

" _You_ may not appreciate my sense of humour, but Sashenka will think I am hilarious."

Kate sighed. "Your dad jokes are gonna kill me. I can feel it now."

"Better to tell shitty dad jokes than to be a shitty dad."

"You worry about that? Being a shitty dad, I mean?"

"Of course I do. It is not as if I had the best example to work from."

"It hasn't affected Will. He's one of the most devoted fathers I've ever seen."

"Viko only remembers the good years, in Berlin, before the divorce." And even then, barely remembered those years at all. "He did not see what papa became, once he was summoned back to Moscow." Or maybe, what their father had become was simply who he had always been, but, for obvious reasons, had kept hidden from them. A case of retrogression instead of progression.

"Was he violent?"

"He never laid a finger on me. But he never had to. When he wanted to hurt you, he did it with words."

"Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me," Kate murmured.

"Whoever wrote that is a _fucking idiot_. If there is one lesson I learned from my father, it is that words can _always_ hurt you. More than any bruise or broken bone."

Kate frowned, thinking, then asked, "Can I say something you might find hurtful?"

"Of course."

"You ever think it was a good thing your father died when he did? How much additional pain he might have caused you if he'd lived?"

"Sometimes, yes. And I think I was aware of that feeling, even back then. I remember being upset when they came to tell me he was dead, but I also remember feeling horribly guilty, because a part of me was glad he was gone."

"The Army made you something evil, but I have the feeling your father would have made you something even worse."

"A good little _apparatchik_ ," Kirill confirmed. "That is what he wanted me to be. He did not think of me as a son so much as an extension of himself. As someone who would further his ambitions for him."

"I'm actually kind of glad he's dead. If he was still alive, I wouldn't let him anywhere near Sashenka."

"If he was still alive, Viko would kill him all over again, just to teach him a lesson."

"It's the one thing he gets really angry about it, isn't it? What your father did?"

"Can you blame him? Papa abandoned him when he was ten years old, left him in Berlin, and as far as we know, never thought about him again. Would _you_ not be angry as well?" He reached out to stroke Sashenka's hair, as dark and glossy as a raven's wing. "I used to try to rationalize what papa did, tell myself he must have had his reasons, but now this little one has been born, I understand him even less now than I did before. I don't know a lot about how the world works, but I _do_ know I would rather gouge out my eyes than hurt or abandon my child."

She wrinkled her nose. "No eye gouging, please."

"Sorry. But you get my point."

"I do. And don't you think it's a sign of what kind of father you're going to be that she's only four hours old, but you're already absolutely devoted to her?"

Devoted didn't quite cut it. He would kill for her. If necessary, die for her as well. "I think so, yes."

"It tells me, you're going to be a much better father than him, _and_ a much better husband than him _and_ a much better person than him."

"I will try."

She smiled. "Just, uh, just don't feel you have to turn into _too_ much of a pacifist, okay? I don't want you roaming around killing or maiming innocent people, but if I'm being honest, I kinda like that you're a little bit of a badass."

" _Kotyonok_ , I am more than a little bit of a badass. I am _all_ the badass."

"Except for your leg."

He shrugged. "Even Achilles had his heel."

"So, you're comparing yourself to a Greek god now?"

" _Half_ god. His father was mortal."

"Oh, well. That makes _all_ the difference."

Grinning, he stifled a yawn.

"We keeping you up?"

"It has been a long and tiring day." He held up a hand. "And before you object, no, that was not a complaint, merely an observation. I know it has been even longer and more tiring for you."

"At least I managed a nap before my shower. You've been on the go since five o'clock this morning."

"But I did not have to go through ten hours of labour."

"Just ten hours of silently panicking, right?"

Kirill huffed. "I never panic."

"I saw the look in your eyes when her head popped out. You're not fooling anyone. I know you were quietly losing your shit."

"If you ask me nicely, I will admit to feeling a _tiny_ bit overwhelmed."

"But not so overwhelmed you're gonna be tempted to run away again, right?"

The Venezuela thing again. Not that he could blame her. It had been one of if not the most foolish thing he'd ever done in his life. "I know it is not an excuse, but I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. I was trying to protect you, to keep you and the baby safe. I realize now how stupid that was, and that running away would actually not have protected you at all." She had her brother-in-law to thank for that. It was William who had made him realize that whatever threats from his past they might face, it was better to face them together, with the full might of the CIA behind him.

If he'd run away, the Company would have washed its hands of him, and of his dependents as well, leaving Kate and the baby still easy for 'old friends' to find, but undefended and exposed. Just thinking about what could have happened, if Kate had been on her own in March when one of those 'old friends' had knocked on their door, made bile rise in his throat. It was only finding out who Kirill worked for now that had persuaded the friend to leave them alone. "I am not going anywhere," he vowed, to himself as much as to Kate. "I will be here as long as you want me."

She pulled a frown. "The hell does _that_ mean, as long as I want you?"

How to tell her the truth—he was worried she was only with him because of the baby? That, eventually, she would realize she had made a mistake, that being married to a Russian ex-assassin actually wasn't all that exciting, and that he wasn't really the husband she wanted? "It is just something I worry about. That you will wake up one day, decide our relationship was a mistake, and that you would rather be with someone more normal instead of me."

"Normal?" she repeated, looking at him askance.

"Normal, yes. Someone who has a regular job, and who has never"—he couldn't bring himself to say killed—"who has never done the things I have done."

She held Sashenka out. "Take her, please, just for a minute. I need my hands to stand up." He could see anger in her eyes, but her voice was perfectly calm.

He leaned in to take their daughter, carefully rolling her into the crook of his arm.

Kate pushed herself up from the chair. Once she was safely on her feet, she said, "Okay, now give her back."

Kirill handed the bundle over. Sashenka didn't so much as frown—another sign she was going to be a good sleeper.

Scanning the floor for tripping hazards, Kate made her way to the bassinet next to the bed. She leaned over to set Sashenka down on her back, stroked her hair away from her face, arranged her limbs and covered her with a knitted blanket.

Expression grave, she walked back to stand before him, gesturing for him to get out of the chair.

She crossed her arms. "Okay, Kirill Alexandrovich, let's get one thing absolutely straight."

Both names. This didn't sound good.

"If I'd wanted normal, I would have married Tom. You remember him, right?"

"The university lecturer. The man you were dating when we first met." Strangely enough, precisely two years ago, at the Cooper's barbecue for the Fourth of July.

"He was as normal"—she made quote marks with her finger—"as a guy gets. He had a great job, he drove a nice car, he wore nice clothes, he knew all the best people, and my crushing snob of a father thought he walked on goddamn water. Oh, and he was also a two-faced, lying, cheating asshole who fucked two of his graduate students behind my back."

He stepped forward, wanting to hold her; she laid a restraining hand on his chest.

"So, I don't care how abnormal you are," Kate continued. "As long as you keep whatever wedding vows we eventually make, as long as you don't fuck your co-workers when I'm not looking, as long as you promise to be the best husband and father you can, and as long as you don't go back to blowing things up and breaking people's legs for money, I will never, _ever_ decide I don't want you." Tears started to gather; she raised a hand to wipe them away. "All I need is to know you feel the same way. Cus I understand the Venezuela thing was a big mistake, but you scared the _shit_ out of me, and I need to know it won't ever happen again."

He cupped her face in his hands. There was so much he could say in response, but when it came down to it, he only needed to say one thing. "Our wedding vows will include the phrase 'until death do us part', will they not?"

She nodded, biting her lip, tears welling again.

"When the time comes, I will stand in front of a priest and say them, and I will mean them with every last ounce of my soul." He kissed her tenderly on the lips. "I promise now that I will _never_ cheat on you, that I will _always_ be here for you and Sashenka, and that I will love you until I die."

A sob caught in her throat; tears slipped down her cheek. "Could you just not die for at _least_ thirty years?"

"No promises, but I will do my best."

"That's all I need."

He wiped the tears from her cheek. "No tears, _kotyonok_ ," he murmured. "Today is a happy day."

Her body heaved in loud, racking sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm happy, honestly, but my hormones are all over the place."

"It is okay. Cry as much as you need." He slipped his arms around her, holding her head into his shoulder, rocking her gently while she worked through her tears. Eventually, the sobbing subsided, she pulled away.

He kissed her again. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded and sniffed. "Better."

"Would you like me to buy you some chocolate? The store downstairs is open twenty-four hours."

"Does it sell bottles of Sauvignon Blanc? Cus I think that's what I _really_ need."

"Probably not, but I think there is a liquor store a few blocks away."

"I'm kidding, it's fine. Can't have any booze while I'm nursing."

Through the window, out over the river, an explosion of colour suddenly filled the night sky. A shimmering, vibrant wave of red first, closely followed by white, then blue. A few seconds later, the floor trembled under their feet.

Kate breathed a laugh and her eyes lit up in childlike joy. "The fireworks, my God. I forgot all about them."

They went to the window to watch the show. Kirill draped his arm around Kate; she leaned her head on his shoulder and slipped her arm around his waist. For a few minutes, they said nothing, but simply watched the brilliant display.

"I've always loved fireworks," Kate murmured.

"When I lived in Moscow, my grandmother used to take me to the viewpoint on the Sparrow Hills to watch the fireworks for Victory Day." Not his father—his father had always had 'other plans'. "It was the most important event of the year for her. She never missed it."

"Victory Day. Is that the one with the big parade?"

"Through Red Square, yes. To mark the surrender of the Nazi regime."

"Beating the shit out of Nazis is always worth celebrating."

"That is what babushka said."

"When she's older, she's gonna _hate_ that she was born on this day," Kate said.

"Sashenka?"

"Yeah."

"I don't see why. What better birthday for an American baby to have than America's Independence Day?"

"She probably won't see it that way. She'll want her birthday to be special, not an add-on to something else."

"She should count herself lucky she was not born a twin." Fortunately for both of them, William had grown out of thinking their birthday should be mostly for him, just because he was the older brother.

Kate shuddered. "Twins. No thank you."

"And as much I could see her point, she was born when she was born. There is not a lot we can do about it."

"We could move to Canada. Their national day's on the first. They don't do anything on the fourth."

"Have you ever been to Canada in the winter?"

She shook her head. "Just in the summer."

"I have. It is a beautiful country, but you don't want to live there in the winter. It makes Moscow feel like it is a tropical city."

"It never ceases to amaze me how intolerant you and William are of the cold."

"What can I say? We are obviously hot-blooded men."

"Or, a matched pair of giant man-babies."

Outside, six rockets popped at once, turning the evening back into day.

"Holy shit," Kate said, blinking. "That one was bright."

"I think that was the climax."

"Pretty good, as climaxes go."

Kirill sniffed. "I have seen and heard better."

"Just so you know, you're gonna have to hold that thought for at _least_ six weeks."

"I can wait." Or, take care of himself.

She looked down at her legs and swore. He followed her gaze; blood was spreading across her crotch.

"Dammit," she muttered. "Keep an eye on the offspring, lemme go deal with this." Knees held together, she shuffled into the bathroom.

"Do you have something else to wear?" he called out.

"There's another pair of pajamas in my bag. Can you grab them for me?"

He went to the bag, rifled through the contents until he found another pair of pajama bottoms. And then another. "Mother of God, woman, how many pairs did you bring with you?"

"Just three."

He took a replacement pair to the bathroom door. "Here you are."

The door opened just enough for her hand to appear. "Don't come in. My uterus is rebelling. It's like a goddamn horror movie in here."

It had been like a horror movie in the delivery suite as well. Except, when you watched a horror movie, you knew the blood and gore wasn't real.

In her cot, their daughter started to cry.

"Is that the kiddo?" Kate asked through the door.

"Sashenka, yes," Kirill told her, going to the bassinet. He reached in to scoop up his child and hold her into his chest. It was at least four large steps to the chairs, so he took the much easier option and sat on Katenka's bed. Once he had something underneath him, he leaned forward to slide Sashenka down into the crook of his arm. He rocked gently and hummed a soft tune. An Aerosmith tune, but she wouldn't care. She was four hours old—she didn't know what rock music was. Her crying slowed, and eventually stopped, but she didn't go back to sleep. She peered at him with her huge blue eyes, and pulled her brows together again.

"What is the frown for, _orlyonok_? Are you hungry? Do you need to be changed? Or, are you just pissed off at the world?"

More staring.

He stroked the centre of her palm, grinning as her grasp reflex kicked in. And not a weak or gentle grasp—a solid, firm, stubborn grasp, a grasp to make a new father proud, a grasp that said _I've caught you and I won't let go_.

That suited him just fine.

" _Orlyonok_ , now it is just the two of us again, would you mind if I tell you something?" he whispered.

He took her silence as permission.

"The last two years have been the most disordered two years of my life." Which was saying something, given what that life had involved. "Do not tell your mama I said this, but I sometimes lie awake at night, thinking about the life I lived in Russia, comparing it to the life I live now, wondering if and when what I have now will ever feel right." He stroked her tiny, razor-sharp nails with his thumb. "And I do not mean 'right' in the sense of having to be so boring and normal, because I assure you, that is _absolutely_ not a problem. I mean 'right' in the sense of feeling like I really belong."

She broke the frown, but only to yawn.

" _Orlyonok_ , you have only been in the world for four hours, but I already know, I will _never_ be able to give you up. I did not realize until I saw you that where I belong is all about the people I love, not about a job or a place. And where I belong is with you and your mama." And eventually, with Kate's approval, maybe a little brother or sister as well. Hopefully, a brother. He wasn't sure he could cope with two girls.

"If you will not let go of me, I promise, I will not let go of you, either." An uncomfortable tightness welled in his chest as he remembered just how close he'd come to letting go of her forever. Seeing her now, lying peacefully in his arms, his genes made flesh and blood and bone, how could he _ever_ have been so stupid as to think running away was the right thing to do? "I give you my word, no matter what happens, even if you crash my car, or come home drunk, or get kicked out of school, or end up in baby trouble, I will always be there to help and support you. I will never, ever do to you what our father did to us."

He kissed her gently on the head.

"Happy birthday, my little eagle. I promise, I will be here for all the birthdays to come."


End file.
